Time to Dance
by jilted colours
Summary: Astoria Greengrass liked parties, but she wasn't too keen on going to one to celebrate her sister, Daphne, and her new engagement to Theodore Nott. However, she immediately hits it off Oliver Wood on the dance floor. What other surprises await them?


**So, I'm finally getting off of my pathetic butt and writing this sucker down now that I have the time. Stupid strep throat. :| Anyways, this one-shot features an odd pairing that I wish people would write more, as I'd find it extremely interesting and I quite enjoy this pairing myself. Not sure where it came from, s'far as it goes, but hey, I went with it, and that's what counts. Nonetheless, this is for the **_**Panic! At the Disco Challenge, **_**I've got the Trio era, New Year's Eve, Room of Requirement, the song **_**Time to Dance **_**by Panic! At the Disco (I would greatly recommend listening to it while you read this), a formal party, and the prompts **_**crazy, good morning at midnight, **_**and **_**simply complicated. **_**Some of this one-shot might seem a bit odd, but apparently the song this is based off of is based off of the book **_**Invisible Monsters **_**by Chuck Palahniuk, which I've never read, so I'm winging it as far as what some of this stuff actually means. Please read and review if you've got the time, I'd greatly appreciate that.**

**Time to Dance**

Astoria Greengrass surveyed her appearance in the tall, dark cherrywood mirror hanging on her wall. The ruffled black dress clung to her leggy frame, greatly emphasizing everything; from the fullness of her plump red lips, to her soft hips, to her toned calves. Perhaps they should've been wearing proper dress robes for the occasion, but after much deliberation, it was decided that they'd rather pursue a more glamorous route, even if it involved tapping out of Diagon Alley and meandering through the cobblestone streets that made up muggle London. If she were being completely honest, she positively _loathed_ those ghastly dress robes, for they hung down on her and made her look frumpy, which was absolutely unacceptable for an occasion like this. Besides, she thought she looked rather classy in the dress, for it brought out the shine in her pale blonde hair. Not only that, but it also grasped the intensity of her eyes, an impossibly dark shade of green—perfect to strut and bathe in what she liked to call 'natural-born house pride' without losing the classic, yet elegant and edgy appearance she seemed to pull off so well. She was gorgeous, and she expected to look as such: it was such a shame that witches and wizards alike hadn't caught onto fashion trends before muggles, but she could come up with a few reasonable reasons, or excuses, depending on what angle she glanced at it through. After all, muggles couldn't charm away a headache or regrow bones in one night, now could they?

Her mind flipped through a book of memories in her mind as her slender, firetruck red manicured fingers lightly licked the silky smooth surface that belonged to the hem of her dress. Her thoughts rested their wispy selves on a particularly crazy part of her day. They'd only been preparing a few things for the event and before she knew it, she'd witnessed the sight of a doe-eyed brunette splayed out dramatically on the ballroom floor with blood seeping into her clothes, staining her peach skin a nasty shade of light red as it began to pool around her. Her emerald orbs were wide and frightened, the fear radiating off of her body like rays of the sun; stand too close and feel the sting. As surprised as she was, she couldn't believe some of the stuff people had said about it, especially people like Blaise Zabini. She could feel the scene unfold in front of her, a movie playing a flashback.

"_What happened to her?" asked Blaise, a faint hint of disgust laced in his voice just slightly. If she didn't know any better, she probably wouldn't have detected it, but she'd recently picked up on the fact that he'd honed this craft and perfected his skill when it came to injecting subtle displeasure. However, she couldn't help the annoyance that stemmed from inside of her due to his question._

"_D'you think I have a clue?" she shot back like a gun, not bothering to be as subtle with her irritation as he had. Astoria didn't need close precision to ask, let alone answer a question._

"_Did she use _'Sectumsempra' _on herself?" _

_The question had resonated with her quickly, and not in a good way. Blaise was treading on thin ice, or rather, he was treading on thin, cracking ice. Astoria sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes blazing almost maliciously. She knew that she was still working, and that her behavior wasn't professional in the least, but she simply couldn't help herself at that moment._

"_Well, she's not bleeding on the ballroom floor just for the attention, 'cause that would be ridiculous...ly odd," she stated, the last part latching itself on simply because of the doubtful look mixed with a hint of negative feeling he presented on his features._

"_Well she sure is going to get it," he muttered after a tense silence overtook them. Astoria and Blaise silently assessed the crime scene, not once looking or speaking to one another._

"_Here's the setting," she grumbled to herself. Wizarding fashion magazines lined the walls now, but the walls lined the spaces that resembled bullet holes. Whoever had done this clearly wasn't a big fan, not in the slightest. That is, unless Blaise was right, and that _she _had done it herself, in which case, there wasn't anything she could say about the situation other than something along the lines of questioning the motives behind it. This technique proved time and time again to be faulty, and so, she strayed from this idea. Perhaps ignorance really was bliss, either that, or she was too frightened to face whatever truth there was left. That is, if there was any left._

Astoria shook the memory out of her mind as she slipped on her expensive gold earrings; the girl was alive and fine, there was no need to dwell on the incident any longer. Besides, it was December 31st, a.k.a. New Years Eve, and it was a day of celebration. She was preparing for a party, a sort of New Years Eve/New Years Day/Happy Engagement/Formal Pureblood Party get-together celebration of sorts. They were celebrating the engagement of Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott on New Years Eve/New Years Day, which was a formal event that only purebloods were invited to. Ordinarily, they would have it in the Grand Ballroom but considering the accident that had happened there, it was promptly moved to the Room of Requirements at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, although the room was set to look like the Grand Ballroom anyways.

Admittedly, it had taken quite a bit of work and heavy payment to the school but they'd finally convinced Professor (now Headmistress) McGonagall to allow them to have it there. After all, it was the end of the war, there was nothing to worry about. Plus, she wasn't told anything about it only being purebloods. It wasn't because they held blood prejudice, but merely that the people invited were all purebloods and those that showed up without invitation (the word had probably spread to those uninvited) were most likely purebloods as well. It didn't mean that there wouldn't be any halfbloods scattered around here and there, but there certainly weren't going to be any muggleborns. And anyways, Astoria didn't think there was a problem with celebrating the purity of her blood. She was proud that she had come from a long line of successful, intelligent witches and wizards and there was no problem in flaunting it in front of those that weren't as fortunate.

Astoria fished her bracelet out of her bag, courtesy of her wand, and proceeded to reevaluate herself in the mirror. Pleased with her appearance, she tossed a stray lock of blonde hair from her face. _Time to dance, _she thought to herself with a grin playing at the edge of her lips.

**[timetodance]**

The makeshift ballroom was extravagant, and come to think of it, much better than the regular ballroom. There was less cleaning up of the whole mess when it was over now that it was held in the Room of Requirement without missing its plethora of beige, cream, tan, silver, and emerald emblazoned items scattered about. People in dress robes, people in dressy muggle clothes (the only person who would even remotely enjoy it would most likely be Arthur Weasley, but naturally, he and the rest of his vagabond pack), and people who most likely wore a mix of both. It was a nice event, and immediately, the first place Astoria went was to the designated food and beverage tables, deciding ultimately that she could go for a bottle of Wilkins Wizarding Wine, a particularly strong drink that always left her lips stained a brilliant mauve-red shade once it mixed with her lipstick.

Forty-five minutes later, the pale blonde had made a beeline for the table and grabbed herself a bottle, made her way throughout the room, exchanging formal greetings and casual conversation with much of the guests. Astoria tipped the bottle to her lips, letting the liquid run a river of fire through her throat. She closed her eyes and let out a small groan of pleasure; she had the money, she might as well go buy some later. The only problem was that this drink was rather expensive, and how her parents and sister managed to afford it along with the other string of things was beyond her. Then again, it _was _the Room of Requirement, it could be that it had merely manifested there along with the items in the room, but she was sure that would've broke one of Gamp's Laws. Quite frankly, her brain was whirling just trying to figure out how it got there that she eventually gave up.

Surveying the room, the young and attractive woman found a great deal more guests filing into the room, but leaning against the wall proved to be a more fulfilling choice on her part. Astoria was also quick to note that several of them were fashionably late, and rightly so—many of them were famous and/or prestigious people in Wizarding society. Licking her lips, the music that had been playing grabbed her attention even more than before; it was pulsing in her ears and pumping in her veins and before she knew it, the urge to pull someone on the dance floor was taking over her. _Time to dance, _she thought to herself with mischievous glint shining in her emerald pools. Her eyes wandered around the room, stopping on someone that had managed to catch her attention. Then again, she'd been at the party for a little over an hour and she'd just finished her third bottle of wine, second bottle of firewhiskey, and a pint of butterbeer. It was safe to say that she'd been pouring enough drinks for herself that night, meaning that it didn't take all that much to attract her attention other than a pretty face. Surprisingly, she was rather sober for the amount she'd drank, but not many people knew that she held her liquor well—probably better than most of them actually. The man, who was at least four years her elder, was busying himself with a conversation that looked as if it were about to end, and sure enough, it had ended. She took it as an opportunity for herself to approach him.

"Want to dance, yes?" she asked, barely glancing at him as she pulled him on the dance floor. Astoria knew her parents would most likely be appalled, had they seen her lack of manners, but she had enough alcohol flowing in her system that she didn't quite care. Maybe he'd be taken by her forwardness, or maybe he'd excuse himself, not that it'd matter either way. _Time to dance._

The man was rubbing the back of his neck a bit, which ordinarily would've made her nervous, but only allowed a smirk to emit. "I, uh, I'm not really a dancer. Not too good at it."

A twinkling laugh elicited from her lips, spilling out to the surface fairly quickly. "S'okay, I'm sure you're a quick learner. I'm Astoria Greengrass."

"Oliver Wood."

"I know who you are," she told him, watching as he glanced over at her with a somewhat surprised expression, one that may have even hinted at him being impressed; she wasn't entirely sure how to read it.

"Really?"

"I'm a Puddlemere United fan. Don't sound too surprised, I like Quidditch. Never played it, though, I like flying without rules," she told him with a shrug.

"You've _never _played Quidditch before?" he asked her, genuine shock displayed on his features.

Astoria chuckled at his reaction—she'd heard from more than one source that Oliver Wood was not just a Quidditch player, but a Quidditch addict that seemed to live, breathe, eat, and love Quidditch as if it were his own kid. He was more than a Quidditch enthusiast as far as she was concerned, and that was fine with her. If anything, she found it rather amusing, or his reaction, at least.

"Never. Now, let's stop swaying and get to the dancing portion, alright?"

After a few minutes of trying to get him to dance with her in a way that not only _felt _acceptable, but one that _looked _acceptable as well and not as if he was a frog stuck in a blender, she found herself silently shaking her head with disapproval. _Blimey, he's awful at this! _she thought to herself, surprised at how bad he turned out to be. She knew many men were not the greatest dancers, but this? This was just sad, and even a little pathetic, although she didn't feel the direct need to voice this aloud, not yet anyways. He hadn't really given her a valid reason to thus far.

Astoria sighed at Oliver, who had given a cheeky grin that stood out against his 'Well, can you blame me? I told you so' sort of look.

"Have some composure," she instructed him coolly, figuring that staying calm would help her. Astoria was no dance instructor. As she gave him a once-over, she nearly scoffed. "Where is your posture?" she asked him, though she expected no answer. "Oh, no, no," she murmured under her breath. _How could I make this easier on him? _she mused quietly to herself. So far, she was drawing up blanks. After all, he was a Quidditch player and she was barely out of a schoolgirl's age, it was difficult to compete when it came down to it. An idea popped into her head, which caused her to mentally congratulate herself.

"Just pretend you're playing Quidditch."

"I doubt something like _dancing _could ever compare to Quidditch," he muttered with a scoff, which she had promptly ignored.

Astoria began to roll her eyes at him, but she refused to let go of her brilliant idea. "You know what? If this was a gun, you'd be pulling the trigger all wrong," she grumbled with frustration. Oliver quirked an eyebrow.

"A gun?"

"I know about muggle things. They're fascinating, sort of. The way they live without magic," she explained.

"Ah."

A silence took over them; it was relatively comfortable, and after a few more minutes of quiet guidance, they managed to find a dancing pattern that worked for them. Astoria's eyes wandered from Oliver for a moment to spot the piercing steel gray eyes that belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy. Absently, a smirk crawled on her lips upon witnessing the look on his face when he spotted her in the arms of Oliver Wood, sashaying in a seemingly whimsical manner. Truth be told, she'd been trying to make him jealous lately. They'd been introduced by Daphne, Theodore, and Blaise and they'd conversed with one another—or exchanged particularly flirty words depending on how she looked at it—but nothing interesting had actually amounted between them. They didn't talk much, and when they did, it was generally a way that spoke to her as 'possible to enter a relationship, but relatively unlikely; 50/50 chance'. Part of her _did _hope that he found it absolutely maddening to watch her dancing comfortably with a rich reserve Keeper and a star Quidditch player for Puddlemere United—after all, that's what he got for not snatching her up the first chance he got, and now he had to suffer for it.

Her eyes drifted back to the man whom she realized was actually around seven years older than her and not four as he appeared (he looked young enough to her). His gaze seemed to have meandered as well, and trained on something else, but to where and on what and/or who, she wasn't entirely sure. She opened her mouth and simply let whatever she wanted to exit her lips, and before she knew it, they were engaging in some interesting conversation. He was bringing out her fiery, sarcastic self that she often hid away until she felt comfortable with someone, and she certainly felt rather comfortable with him. Astoria wasn't sure how long exactly that they had been talking, but she was having fun, and there was no doubt in her mind that he was, too. After all, who _couldn't _have fun while being around her? Well, other than Blaise Zabini, the bloody prick, and some of the people she'd gotten into rows with at Hogwarts, but she couldn't help it if they enjoyed to quarrel with her. She was a good person deep down, and if they didn't see that, well, they wouldn't be the first ones. She shook the thoughts off as she reverted her focus back to her devastatingly fit and handsome dance partner.

**[timetodance]**

The reserve Keeper glimpsed over at the girl he was dancing with. Surprisingly, he was enjoying himself—sure, he'd much rather be out on the Quidditch pitch, but this wasn't too awful either. In fact, if his current feelings could pull themselves into coherent thoughts, they would most likely be weaving themselves into something along the lines of 'give me envy, give me malice, give me your attention'. He could see her subtle glances over at that gray-eyed Malfoy brat who had taken to sweeping across the dance floor with a haughty-looking brunette that he could only assume was a Parkinson judging by the pug-nose, a feature he could only assume ran through their family. If he was being completely honest, he rather found the subtle envy swimming in her eyes strangely attractive on her—after all, green _was _the color of envy. With envy came malice, and judging by her spitfire personality, she had plenty of it lurking in her, all of which he figured added to her inevitable appeal. More than anything, however, he was wanting her attention. Even if the envy and malice was attractive on her, he liked her attention on him. Surprisingly, she was attentive when she wanted to be, and he wanted the attention on himself. Selfish, but true. He was only human, and a man at that, and men happened to crave attentions from women, especially if they were tantalizing and feisty women, all of which applied to the blonde Greengrass girl.

Another thought that would appear in his head would probably be '_Give me a break_'. As much as he enjoyed the dancing, he really only enjoyed it because her company was very good company. It wasn't as if he wanted to ditch the rest of the party and steal away in the night with her, but taking a break from the dancing to sit and talk would be nice. Not to mention that her occasional tips were somewhat annoying. Then again, so were a lot of people, it was natural, and so he dismissed it. It was one negative for the several positives that he saw in her.

"So, are you excited for your sister to get married?" he asked her, somewhat surprised when he received a snort in response.

"Not in the least. You know, they're pretty young and their wedding is just a shotgun wedding."

"A shotgun wedding?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion and innocent curiosity.

"Yeah. Tell you what, you sound confused. When I say shotgun, you say wedding. Shotgun."

"Wedding."

"Shotgun."

"Wedding."

Oliver wasn't entirely sure why he went ahead and obeyed her request/demand other than to keep things simple. He was positive that she did this thing quite frequently judging by the way she acted. As he looked at her, her realized that she wasn't all good—she had more bad in her than she let onto now that he thought about it. His mind flashed to an incident that had graced newspapers and magazines all over the Wizarding World. It had concerned her sister, Daphne Greengrass, bleeding all over that ballroom floor and then looking absolutely insane afterward. And by that, he meant that her eyes were always wide and her speech was stuttered as well as animated, making for a very psychotic-looking person. And then Astoria, young and pretty Astoria had the nerve to cry. He would've believed it, expect for the fact that she was rather selfish, or looked selfish, anyways. Poor Daphne, she didn't choose that role, but she played it and made it sincere while little Astoria, she cried, oh she cried. _Give me a break, _he had thought to himself bitterly when he read the article, but everyone was eating it up. They believed it from the tears and the teeth right down to the blood at Daphne's feet as well as her own.

Yet, as he looked her over one more time, he found himself disregarding this. To be honest, he didn't really quite care as much as he had a few seconds before, when he wasn't focused on her. Perhaps it was shallow and stupid, but boys would be boys, hiding in estrogen and all. Peering over at her again, he noticed that she was wearing make-up by the name of Aubergine Dreams, which he only knew because his mother had been dying for it since she'd first seen it; and as Oliver full took in the sight of the blonde, drinking her features in like a man dying of thirst, he felt as if he'd be having a few aubergine dreams himself too. Oliver hadn't realized that her mouth had been moving, spilling secrets of mundane words and menial tasks, or that he'd been replying to them absentmindedly until his latest reply. He was generally more attentive, but he'd done this before. It was a rare occurrence, however, and he made a mental note to pay more attention to their conversations. After all, he didn't really feel like upsetting her and having her storm off because he wasn't listening to her.

A pause settled between them for a quick second before she picked up speed and began to explain the saying to him, while he'd practically forgotten that she hadn't explained it to him yet.

"It means an impromptu marriage arranged between two people because one of them got pregnant."

Oliver raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He merely nodded in response, and thus, they continued their methodical swaying on the dance floor.

**[timetodance]**

Astoria's eyes were trained on the clock, which read 11:57. If she knew anything, she knew that the new year was approaching fast and that she only had a few minutes left. Her eyes ghosted through the room before stopping on Draco Malfoy. She really needed to keep herself in check; it was clear he wasn't interested in her, not to mention that she had a perfectly dashing young man in front of her, there was no reason to glimpse at the handsome blonde, or the pug-nosed slag hanging off of his arm with drool probably dripping down her chin. If those were the kinds of girls Draco was into, then she didn't want him to look at her. At least, that was what she was convincing herself. In all honesty, she couldn't believe she was so hung up over someone who had only given her faux hope with his supposed interest, unless she had misunderstood or looked too much into his actions. Ignoring those factors, the clock was ticking and Pansy was murmuring something in Draco's ear with a giggle. A wicked smirk crept on his face like electricity at what she said, causing a flare of anger to pass through her. She could only take a guess as to what they were talking about, truthfully. It wasn't that hard to figure out. Grabbing her dance partner's hand, she stormed over in that general direction, towards the large ticking clock.

"Come on, this is screaming 'photo op'," she muttered to herself.

"Photo op?" he questioned.

"Photo opportunity. It's a muggle saying, popularized in the United States."

He raised a curious eyebrow. "Is that so? You know, for a pureblood, you know quite a bit about muggles." He didn't include the fact that she was a _Slytherin _pureblood and she didn't outright mention it.

"They're interesting, somewhat. Besides, just because I'm a pureblood doesn't mean I'm ignorant about muggles."

"Well I'm a pureblood and I barely know what you're talking about."

Astoria shrugged nonchalantly in response. "If no one will inform me, I'll get myself informed."

Her emerald orbs caught the sight of Draco and Pansy wrapped up in each other with only seconds to spare until midnight, with the elusive 'midnight kiss' bound to make its appearance. _Well, two can play at that game, _she thought to herself with a sense of finality. The clock chimed midnight while the people in the room cheered, and by then, Astoria had already grabbed Oliver by his collar and pulled him against her, fiercely attacking him with her lips in a heated kiss. She wasn't normally this forward, but she was fired up and it was New Years Eve—New Years Day, now—meaning that if it was a new year, there would be new changes, like her sister becoming Daphne Nott and that Blaise would finally realize that he had to stop acting like a complete git and that he had to stop pining after Daphne, who would never become Daphne Zabini (the name didn't even flow off the tongue; a sign that they obviously weren't meant for each other), and even the change that she would finally get over Draco Malfoy and pursue someone worth her time—someone like Oliver Wood, perhaps.

When they broke apart, she took a shallow breath as their foreheads were pressed together. Astoria couldn't help but smile widely and give herself a bit of air. She wouldn't admit that she already missed the closeness between them, but at least she'd gotten a kiss out of the night. It proved to be a very interesting, very eventful, and even a very hopeful night for her; how could she not smile?

"Good morning," she told him pleasantly. Oliver couldn't help but laugh, although he couldn't help but feel like this would be typical Astoria behavior.

"Good morning at midnight?"

"Absolutely. It's just...it's simply complicated. I can tell you that much."

Oliver laughed, and Astoria couldn't help but glow a bit, which only shone more when Oliver opened his mouth, and she knew she'd accomplished the impossible.

"Right. Come on, let's get back to the dance floor."

And indeed, with the tug of his hand, Oliver and Astoria were back on the dance floor, swaying to the music even closer than ever, talking all the while. Even though she wouldn't admit it, she couldn't help but inwardly melt at his sexy Scottich accent, which proved to be a definite sign of attraction in her opinion. In spite of that and everything else, there was one simple three-word thought lurking at the back of her head the moment the words left his lips.

_Time to dance._

**So there you have it folks, this is the end of my Astoria/Oliver. It could've been better but I have snot dripping from my nose (thanks sinuses, love you too) and I'm sleepy with a ton of make-up work to do tomorrow and the day after, so I figured I'd wrap it up right there. Tell me what you think! Read and review if you have the time, I'd sincerely appreciate it.**


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